


The Winter Wind

by bookwormfaith



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012), The Silver Brumby
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 22:24:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1834342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwormfaith/pseuds/bookwormfaith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And God took a handful of blizzard wind, blew on it, and created the Horse" - Elyne Mitchell, paraphrasing an old Bedouin legend</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title: The Winter Wind  
Author:** bookworm  
 **Rating:** G  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Disclaimer:** all characters borrowed without permission and will be returned unharmed when done  
 **Summary:** _“For God took a handful of blizzard wind, blew on it, and created the horse” ~Elyne Mitchell paraphrasing from an old Bedouin legend_

Here in the High Country, the Bushmen still tell stories about a Ghost Horse. He comes in the blizzard snows and follows the wind, the magnificent Silver Stallion, King of the wild brumbies. The Men call him Silver, but the creatures of the bush know him as Thowra, the Wind. If you listen very closely, you might still hear his wild call, echoing through the storms. But no Man knows where the son of Bel Bel roams.

No _Man_ , ‘tis true. But there are many things in this world besides the sons and daughters of men.

Three hundred years or so ago, the Moon brought a boy back from the depths of a lake, and made him Winter. He named him Jack Frost, and he was meant to bring the joy and laughter back to a season of dread, and so Jack did. His first friend was the Wind, and Jack learnt to fly and dance with his faceless companion, travelling the whole world to spread his brand of winter magic. Because he could not speak to anyone else, he talked to the Wind, and learnt to hear its murmuring whispers, and heed its whistling songs. And the Wind goes where it wills, and carries many tales, if you have ears to listen.

Up here in the Snowy Mountains the winters often come early, and the stockmen used to say “thunder in winter means snow”. The thunder and the blizzard came yesterday, but today the air is crisp and clear, and high on the Ramshead ranges the snow has been packed hard by the driving wind. Today there is a cream-and-silver stallion galloping wild and free across the white-dressed ranges, alight with the joy of being alive. Today, Thowra bucks and rears and trumpets his joy to the mountains, silver mane and tail flying like foam on a waterfall. This is winter, _his_ time, when the Men are gone from the mountains and he can gallop over the hills without fear, silver horse on white snow. Lifting his proud head he calls aloud again, to this white world where he is King, and then sets off again, neat hooves almost dancing on the packed snow. Winter is here, and this is his kingdom (this is his land forever, the wind sighs, spirit or flesh). There are many tales told of Thowra, among the men and horses alike – men talk of a ghost horse seen drinking at the head of the Crackenback river, or appearing and disappearing in the willy-willies of winter; and the mountain brumbies tell stories of the Silver Whirlwind, who comes in the winter like the very storm and vanishes in the summer, but only the Wind and the bush creatures knows where he goes. Only the Wind, and those who listen to it.

High above the Lake Cootapatamba where the Eagles drink, there is a boy made of ice and snow, dancing in the Wind. Yesterday he brought the blizzards and driving winds, but today the sun shines brightly on the snow below – today is a day for playing, and Jack does love to play. The clear skies and freezing winds let him drop the temperatures enough to form tiny ice crystals that sparkle in the air – the famous diamond dust, although there is no one around to see it. No one, except the silver brumby stallion, galloping and rearing in the snow below. A spume of snow flies behind him like a cloud as he dances, the sun reflecting off the crystals in the air like a halo around him. Dropping down, Jack salutes him, Winter to the Whirlwind, and Thowra rises in greeting to the Winter Prince. With a laugh, Jack takes off again, glad to have brought joy to a heart, and as a whirlwind of snow hides the Silver Brumby from sight, the white hawk – the black-shouldered kite whose carving flight makes the air-twisted spells of the dance of life – breaks free of the spiralling snow, and it’s call follows Jack through the air with gladness and thanks.

_“For love is the kelson of creation”_

 

 


	2. The Truth of that Night was Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dreams were dreams; only one facet of what might be the truth of the world, and the truth of that night was snow" - Elyne Mitchell, Son of the Whirlwind

**Title: The Truth of that Night was Snow  
Rating**: G  
 **Warnings:**  none  
 **Disclaimer:**  seriously not mine  
 **Summary** :  _Dreams were dreams; only one facet of what might be the truth of the world, and the truth of that night was snow - Elyne Mitchell, Son of the Whirlwind_  
  


Dreams were dreams; only one facet of what might be the truth of the world, and the truth of that night was snow.

 

For the little creamy filly foal, her whole world was her mother, the warm comfort of her milk, and the Man who stood close and made admiring noises. Born in the early spring, she has known only the warm sun and the green grass, so the black clouds and cold winds frighten her. Crying her distress, she runs on shaky feet around the small yard, and shies from the cold white flakes that fall around her. The wind wraps gently around her for all its howling, but she is too afraid to hear the voice on it that murmurs comfort. Seeing her distress, the Man lets her and her mother into the paddock, and her mother leads her to the shelter of the trees. Trembling, she stays close, disliking how her mother's creamy coat and silver mane & tail blend into the storm, and so she never sees the Winter Spirit hovering above, or hears his softly breathed plea for forgiveness, even as the storm closes its grip around them. She cries aloud and hears her mother's terrified scream, as the noise of the wind is eclipsed by the sound of crashing trees and branches, but no harm comes to her, pressed close against her mother's hide. Instead the wind carries a stallion's cry, and around them it swirls almost gently, parting the curtain of snow so that they can see the great silver stallion standing near the high fence, where the wind has blown a tree across the barrier.

 

"Go" the wind whispers "Hurry", and "Come" says the silver stallion, so they do, her mother chivving her along, as the wind forms a barrier of snow around them, eclipsing them in the white. Sheltered between her parents the little filly stumbles but does not fall, and her sire leads them to a small scrubby gully, where she is permitted to rest and drink. 

 

"What have you named our foal?" her sire asks, looking with pride at his beautiful daughter, all tiny and silver and white. "She should be Kunama, which means snow, for Winter and the Wind have brought her to us." 

 

"Kunama" agrees her dam, nuzzling them both, and the silver filly wags her furry wisp of a tail, as the Winter Spirit smiles in shy pride and agreement. Careful of his welcome, Jack comes closer, and watching her parents for permission he offers her his hand. Kunama butts her nose against his cold hand making him laugh as she sneezes, eyes wide with surprise at the chill, but she lets him scratch around her ears gently. With a whoop he is gone, and the tornado leaves with him, leaving only the steady roar of the storm, which is already beginning to slacken. 

 

"Remember him" her sire tells her. "For Winter will always be a friend to the Silver Herd."

 

Kunama does, even as she grows. When she drinks at the pool of the moon, it is as if the quicksilver moon runs down her throat, and as she remembers the way Winter flies with the wind and her sire's words to her, a wish rises up out of herself without her conscious devising ( _Freedom)_. So when the snow comes, her snow, she is only slightly confused to see the Boy coming towards her. When he takes off her hobbles and opens the gate with tears in his voice she hesitates for only a moment, before she gathers her courage and leaves. She looks back only once, to see him as a black hooded figure the way they first met, rising up out of the mist, and she is not at all surprised to see Winter behind him, looking at her with wise blue eyes, his hand on the Boy's shoulder. Then she is away, galloping printless through the snow, prancing for joy - a ghost horse, invisible in the snow, free in all the freedom of the hills. The storm is kind to her, thick enough to hide her tracks, but not so strong as to blow her off the high bridle track against the sky. High above, the moon may be full, but beneath the storm clouds Kunama travels safely, with no light to reflect off silver mane  & tail turning it into foam on the waterfall, or turn creamy hide to molten silver. On and on she goes, silver mare returning home, and the snow-filled night is hers, Winter's gift to the Silver Herd. So tired that she walks half in a dream, the merest impression of a ghost horse through the black sallee.  _Freedom_ , whispers the wind and the snow, and Kunama feels the truth of it echo up from the crunch of the snow underfoot up through strong hooves and into her blood and bone. Her whole world is the black and white of the snow and the dark night, the blue of Winter's eyes and the promise of the wind - a dream or reality? For Kunama, proud and free, the truth of her world this night is  _snow_.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. So all these places mentioned are real! Elyne Mitchell loved the High Country LOTS and it showed in all her stories. See here: http://www.blaze.net.au/~sasami/brumby/maps.html for maps. Of course, most of this area is now ski-fields and all touristy, but plenty is still national park.  
> 2\. a "willy-willy" is an old bush term for the spiralling twist of wind going upwards - a small whirlwind, in fact, what some might call a "dust devil"  
> 3\. diamond dust is a very rare phenomenon of a ground level cloud of ice crystals. It happens under clear skies & needs below freezing temperatures. I have no clue if it happens in Australia, but well. Jack. And yes, they are associated with optical phenomena like halos, because the ice crystals form as simple hexagonal shapes which behave like prisms


End file.
